


Lead By Your Beating Heart

by waitingtobelit



Series: fire burn and cauldron bubble [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fauns & Satyrs, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Magic, Multi, Other, Romance, Werewolves, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingtobelit/pseuds/waitingtobelit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius accidentally reveals more of himself than planned one night camping with his friends who, with secrets of their own, prove more supportive than he expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lead By Your Beating Heart

**Author's Note:**

> So this is part of a new verse I’m starting, “Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble.” I want to play around with “writing out of order” and fantasy. This is the first of what I hope to be many stories set in this universe. Title comes from Bastille’s “Laura Palmer.”
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Les Mis.

Marius ought to know when to excuse himself from conversations at this point in his life; but his desperation for belonging, for acceptance, like a barricade, seems to constantly leave him to himself to face the consequences of indulging too long in conversation. Yet, until tonight, one fair evening in June, he always managed to keep those consequences to himself and those closest to him.

 “But Frodo bore the weight of the ring. Even though he succumbed to it and pushed Sam away, it doesn’t make him any less of a hero.” Marius flails as he speaks, heat rushing through his skin to illuminate his cheeks and the freckles decorating them. He doesn’t mean to get so caught up in the heat of the discussion-turned-debate he’s currently having with Combeferre; he just happens to have a particular attachment to Frodo Baggins as a literary character and a personal hero from his youth. (His grandfather’s library and subsequently the books within it being some of his only places of refuge as a child; he fell into Middle Earth with the same weight of the one ring spiraling into the fires of Mount Doom.)

Still, a voice rings out in the back of his head sounding suspiciously like Courfeyrac, warning him not to get overly excited. He chews on his lip and forces his gaze to the dancing flames of the campfire, even as anticipation drips down his thoughts like sweat; he elects to ignore the increased stuttering of his heart even as that voice in the back of his head softens into a sigh.

“Well, yes. But Sam’s loyalty to Frodo and his perseverance through Frodo succumbing to the ring marks him as the true hero of the story.” Combeferre, sipping from one of the red solo cups Bahorel brought and shoving a dark curl away from his face brightened by the light of the campfire, speaks with his usual, composed lilt. “Sam is just so truly good; I admire him for that.”

In spite of the warmth underlying Combeferre’s rebuttal, like freshly brewed coffee after midnight, Marius still finds himself almost jumping off the stump currently serving as his seat, hands twitching by his sides as his feet fidget on the ground. Joly, to the right of him, places a comforting hand on his shoulder. He manages a smile in thanks even as the mulled cider he drank over an hour ago continues to churn in his stomach like remnants of unwanted dreams from the night before.

Tonight, the moon is half-full, and the woods near empty save for their tents and the group surrounding them: Enjolras, involved in his own quiet debate with Eponine, Azelma, and Feuilly over to Combeferre’s left, Jehan and Cosette at the edge of the fire employing their fairy magic to make sparks fly every time they kiss through the smoke pouring through their hands, Grantaire and Bahorel prancing about on their satyr’s legs, at last free to display them away from the city crowds, and Courfeyrac and Musichetta, laughing together as they attempt to teach Bossuet how to cast a cheering charm.

Marius attempts to focus on the way Courfeyrac’s almost tipsy giggles catch in the breeze, or the way Musichetta kisses Bossuet with the biggest grin even as the branch he aims for dissolves into watercolor puddles. Marius inhales deeply, attempts to calm his nerves as alive and riotous as clashing sea foam with the mirth from the campfire and those that surround it. His hands begin to quake with greater vehemence; he clenches them into fists in retaliation.

“Marius, you look rather ill.”

He meets Combeferre’s gentle gaze, with all the warmth of starlight in their copper vibrancy, just as the shaking in his hands extends to his entire body in spite of the effort of his fists.

“I’m sure it’s just the cider, really.” Even as he says this, twinges of the buzzing sensation he’s grown intimately familiar with pulse throughout him. Marius winces as Joly reaches out with another steadying hand.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath as Joly rubs warm circles into his back and Combeferre searches through his satchel for some concoction or other he always happens to have on hand. He rummages through his collection of charms and potions with the occasional utterance of a curse or two, which does nothing for Marius’ tumultuous imagination or the way the night seems to be shrinking in around him.

Leaves crunching beneath hooves and the fragrance of heavily improved-upon mulled cider alert him to Grantaire’s sudden presence behind him.

“I hear you make an adorable kitten, Pontmercy.” Grantaire leans over him with a grin like a magpie, all roguish delight as he brushes one hoof against the leaf and twig covered ground.  “I want to see it for myself.”

“Well, you’re out of luck.” He tries to scowl, but his voice cracks halfway through like the screech of glass against pavement. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Courfeyrac striding in his direction with a knowing glint to his eyes, Jehan and Cosette close behind him. He shudders and hopes desperately that they reach him before he makes a spectacle of himself in front of everyone.

“For once, I disagree with you there.” Grantaire says, smirking around his drink as Joly frowns at him.

“I can tell you for a fact that he does make the cutest kitten in the world. You can take my word for it, no need to see it for yourself.” Courfeyrac bounds up behind Marius and starts gently massaging his shoulders. For a moment, he leans into it, grateful for the comfort Courfeyrac’s presence provides before jolts pulse through him once more. He shudders so hard he breaks away from Courfeyrac, hands grasping the sides of the stump as the magic within him does its work.

He only has time to briefly despair at revealing himself like this before the collective focus of the entire group falls on him. He inhales sharply one last time, as though he were about to be sick, before disappearing into the wilderness of his own clothes.

Clashing voices ring out loudly above him as he stumbles through the darkness of his indigo shirt on his wobbly legs and paws, unsure if he’s trying to get free or bury himself further from the sight of his friends. Marius sighs as much as a kitten can sigh, occasionally pausing to scratch at the side of his face as if his movements might be enough to reverse the transformation. One of his claws catches in the fabric, and he lets out a rather pathetic mew as he tries to wiggle himself free.

“Come here, sweet thing. I’ve got you.” Cosette gently pulls his claw out from the shirt with one hand while pulling him out entirely with the other. She smiles at him warmly, her blue eyes bright with understanding and just the tiniest spark of amusement. Marius rubs his head against her wrist as she brings him to her chest. “Shh, you’re okay.”

Marius clings to her as the rest of his friends gather around in various states of curiosity, Bahorel and Grantaire smirking as Courfeyrac looks on with a patient smile. Jehan stands to the right of Cosette, green eyes alight with sympathy as he smiles down at Marius with his head resting on her shoulder as Eponine and Azelma gradually approach. Enjolras and Combeferre remain where they sit while Joly goes over to join Bossuet and Musichetta, still sending sparks out into the night with their own magic after pausing briefly to catch a glimpse of Marius. Marius mews again in thanks at the warm smile Joly shoots him on his way to his lovers.

He shivers a bit in Cosette’s arms, stomach rolling about as he attempts to quiet his unruly nerves. Cosette strokes the back of his head in a soothing gesture, yet he still squirms.

Usually, Courfeyrac, Cosette, or Eponine are able to reach him in time to maneuver him out of whatever crowd (theatre, book store, diner) that happens to surround them. Courfeyrac especially is great at casting distractions every which way so that Marius can transform with relative peace in some back alley or corridor. (One of the many perks of dating a witch.)

Tonight fully reveals Marius for the first time, and as he rests in Cosette’s arms, he tries to reconcile with the reality of it. He supposes he should’ve expected this sooner rather than later, what with his reluctance of sharing himself with his friends even after knowing them for six months and his friends’ tendencies for the impulsive and the volatile with their magic rallies and adventures in disrupting a government trying to exploit their existence. And though he’s known Eponine, Cosette, and Courfeyrac for longer than the rest of the group, embarrassment still creeps in at his exposure as he tries to hide behind his paws.

He twists his head back and forth in a stream of constant motion, struggling with the sudden attention heaped upon him; his gaze keeps flicking back to Courfeyrac, who now contorts his face in exaggerated expressions of adoration, blowing haphazard kisses to him with overly pouted lips. If he were still human, he would be laughing along with Jehan and Cosette, but as is he settles for batting the air as though he could catch said kisses in his paws.

A cough from behind a curtain of hair like cinnamon almost makes him jump from Cosette’s arms.

“Can I hold him? Would he mind?” Azelma asks in a subdued voice, her usual brash demeanor apparently soothed by the sight of a kitten.

“What do you think, Marius?” Cosette says, turning him to face her while waiting for his answer.

Marius doesn’t know Azelma as well as Eponine, but finds himself nodding nonetheless. He trusts Eponine enough not to worry much about Azelma.

Azelma’s hands are softer than Marius expects as she lifts him from Cosette and brings him to her own chest; Cosette remains nearby but turns to converse and flirt with Jehan as Azelma takes over keeping Marius calm.

“Aw, who’s the cutest little law student?” She giggles as she scratches behind his ears and though he tries to remain quiet, Marius winds up purring and leaning into the pleasant sensation. Much to his surprise, his previous apprehension is gradually yet surely dissipating from him.

He mews in protest when Azelma pauses her touch and lifts him up to face her a moment later, dark eyes glittering above a grin Marius suspects sharp enough to cut through locked doors and perfectly guarded hearts. Yet, directed at him, Marius also detects a softness lurking beneath her edges that reassures him.

She glances quickly over to Cosette, Jehan, and Courfeyrac, who also remains close, gaze still patiently glued to Marius, before her whole being rises and falls with the weight of an unspoken secret. Eponine beside her engages Bahorel and Grantaire, occasionally still casting mischievous glances over to Marius, in boisterous conversation.

“I don’t know if Eponine ever told you, I think not, considering how much she wanted to keep you for herself,” Azelma speaks quietly as Eponine, standing next to her, discreetly flips her off from behind her back, “but I’m a werewolf, myself, and while it’s not the same as being a shapeshifter, I could, you know, help with your transformations and stuff. If you want.”

Marius can only stare at her, desperately ignoring the slight panic budding at the thought of being held by a werewolf. Yet, the longer he looks at her, the more he notices the way her hands tremble slightly around him and that her eyes shift constantly, as though unable to stay in one place. After a minute of these observations, he lets out a small yet determined mew; after another small pause, he nuzzles what he can reach of her hands.

“Okay, you really are goddamn adorable, shit.” Azelma laughs, and the sound of it reminds Marius of the cackling embers of the campfire behind them. He preens a bit as she hugs him to her again.

“Still a gentleman, even as a kitten.” Eponine laughs from beside Bahorel and Grantaire, the pair of them guffawing and stomping their hooves in time to some kind of joke unknown to the rest of the world.

“Speaking of, I think a certain gentleman is getting a little anxious about you so we’ll talk later, okay?” Azelma says as she begins to move towards Courfeyrac who is shuffling his feet, playing with his hair, and otherwise failing at hiding his impatience. Warmth bubbles through Marius at the sight.

Just before they reach Courfeyrac, however, a strong pair of arms swoops in and scoops Marius up into the night.

“Hey!” Azelma tries to take him back, but Grantaire distracts her with a flirtatious grin that actually induces her to blush and so spins away triumphantly with Marius now in his care. He catches sight of Courfeyrac’s pout only for a brief second before Grantaire comes to a stop just before the stump Marius had previously sat upon.

He squirms and meows loudly as he tries to break free, but Grantaire’s grip holds strong against his movements.

“We can’t let the night end without giving Marius a Lion King moment, now can we? It would be a complete tragedy.” Grantaire says, moving to lift Marius in the air in the same breath.

_I could pee on him,_ Marius muses as Bahorel joins in with the most horrid, out of tune chorus of “Circle of Life” he’s ever heard. He flexes his claws a bit, contemplating using them before sandalwood cologne and warm, familiar arms pull him away from the impromptu singalong that manages to ensnare everyone except for Enjolras, Combeferre, Feuilly, and Courfeyrac, who cradles him close as he begins to walk towards their tent.

“Get your own shapeshifting boyfriend!” He responds as Grantaire pouts about him “ruining all the fun.” Marius mews, beginning to purr again.

“The nerve of it all! To think, I’m the one in love with you and I’m the last one to hold you! Psh!” Courfeyrac shakes his head in mock outrage as his Doc Marten clad feet clomp through the underbrush; Marius nuzzles further into his chest. He mews victoriously at the way Courfeyrac’s dark eyes glisten and his full lips bloom in response.

“On top of it all, you keep finding new ways to be more adorable each minute. How am I expected to keep up?” If Marius were human, he’d be blushing terribly; Courfeyrac’s knowledge of this underlies his words as the corners of his lips twitch. Marius swats playfully at his shoulder in retaliation.

“Still cuter than me.” He all but sing-songs as he unzips the opening of the slowly falling apart tent they’d borrowed from Mabeuf and brings them inside. Marius swats him again.

Half an hour later, Marius, entangled with Courfeyrac on top of their sleeping bags, is back to himself again. Mostly.

“Courfeyrac, please get my clothes for me.” He pleads in between kisses as snug as their two-person tent, his breath unsteady from the sheer amount they’ve already exchanged. Courfeyrac hums against his skin as his mouth moves from Marius’ to his cheek.

“But you’re so lovely without them.” He murmurs, smirking into the blush still bright across Marius’ face.

“But I’m cold!” Marius whimpers into the crook of Courfeyrac’s neck as Courfeyrac plants kisses like wildflowers from his nose to his ears. His breath catches as Courfeyrac’s fingers begin to trace patterns down his back.

“Is that so? Guess I’ll have to warm you up then, darling.” Courfeyrac kisses him on the mouth again; Marius sighs into it, bringing his own hands to tangle in Courfeyrac’s curls.

“…I’ll need them in the morning.” Marius says, a tiny, happy noise escaping him as Courfeyrac brushes their noses together.

“Good. I don’t have to resort to terrible wand puns to convince you to stay naked.” Courfeyrac leans back to waggle his eyebrows; Marius bursts out into a fit of giggles, Courfeyrac following soon after.

They have a good laugh for a few moments, shoulders brushing and foreheads crashing together. Courfeyrac grasps onto Marius’ hands once he regains control of his breath.

“I told you there was nothing to worry about.” He whispers, kissing his nose. Marius’ eyelids flutter and again his breath catches at their proximity.

“I know, but…”

“Yes, you do have a rather nice butt.” Courfeyrac smirks as he frees one hand to drag it down the expanse of Marius’ back. Marius jumps when said hand reaches its target and squeezes.

“You just like my shapeshifting because I always end up naked.” Marius accuses, unable to keep the grin from his face.

“Alas, you’ve found me out.” Courfeyrac puts his other hand across his forehead. “Whatever am I going do now?”

“Tell me all your terrible wand puns.” Marius’ grin widens as he pulls him closer, leaning his chin on Courfeyrac’s shoulder.

They fall asleep curled together like cats.

 


End file.
